Page 13 of The Husband Gamble
The fresh air was welcome, if a bit crisp. They did not stay out for long, returning to the drawing room where Lord Joseph read to the assembly again, this time from the poet Keats, and Miss Fairleigh sang a moving ballad about unrequited love.
When Rilla and Cousin Felicia returned to their bedchamber to prepare for dinner, the maid they shared was standing in the centre of the room, her mouth agape. Around her was chaos—the clothes from their trunks and the dressing area scattered across the floor, pages torn from the book Rilla had borrowed from the library screwed up and thrown down on top of the clothes, an indescribable stench arising from where chamber pots had been tipped upside down on the beds.
Cousin Felicia sent her to fetch Lady Osbourne. “Touch nothing, Amaryllis. We shall step into the hall and wait for our hostess.
Lady Osbourne was suitably horrified. “I have never had anything like this happen at one of my house parties before,” she assured Cousin Felicia. “I will move you to another room, of course, and my servants will go to work straight away cleaning and pressing your garments. Meanwhile, I am sure we can find something for you both to wear down to dinner.”
Cousin Felicia was furious. Rilla thought she should be, too, but mostly the malice in the attack made her feel sick. Whoever it was—and she had little doubt it was Miss Thompson—had torn or broken what she could, and poured ink and the contents of several chamber pots over what remained.
Their jewellery was intact, but Cousin Felicia’s skin preparations and Rilla’s perfume had been spilled into the mess.
“I am sorry about your book, Lady Osbourne,” she said to her hostess.
“You have nothing to apologise for,” Lady Osbourne insisted. “It is the fault of the person who is responsible for this outrage. I believe it to have been another of the guests, who left the house at my request earlier this afternoon. Undoubtedly, she could not have accomplished this without making several trips. One of the servants will be able to confirm her identity, and then I shall know what to do next. She will, I assure you, be sorry.”
It was Miss Turnbull, then. Rilla shuddered. The woman must be unbalanced. Lord Hythe had had a lucky escape.
* * *
Miss Fernhill appeared pale when she came down to dinner, and Lady Barker had a grim look about her that worried Hythe. He had no chance to ask Miss Fernhill what was going on, though. She and Lady Barker had appeared just as dinner was announced, and Lady Osbourne had already asked him to escort Miss Fairleigh.
He applied himself to conversation with the pretty blonde, though he could not resist a few glances at Miss Fernhill. She was sitting between Lord Joseph and Captain Hudson, which worried Hythe. Was Lady Barker opposed to his suit? Was Lady Osbourne?
He would take his dismissal if he must, but only from Miss Fernhill herself. She was, after all, of age. She was also looking more cheerful, and not once that he saw did she look his way.
“You like her, do you not?” said Miss Fairleigh.
Hythe flushed. It was the height of poor manners to ignore his dinner partner to stare at another lady. “I beg your pardon, Miss Fairleigh.”
She took his sincere apology as a request for clarification. “You like Miss Fernhill. I am glad. She is the nicest lady at the house party.”
“I am sorry,” he clarified. “I should have been paying my attention to you.”
Miss Fairleigh gave the tiniest of shrugs. “I do not mind, Lord Hythe. She likes you, too. I have seen the way she looks at you.”
“Do you really think so?” Hythe asked before he could trap the words behind his teeth.
“Oh yes,” Miss Fairleigh insisted. “Not just because you are a really good catch, either. She enjoys talking to you. I can tell.” She began counting points off on her fingers. “You are really clever, and she is really clever. You are kind and she is kind. You play chess and she plays chess. You enjoy tidying things, and she enjoys tidying things. You like to talk about government and machines and books, and she likes to talk about government and machines and books.”
Hythe took her pause to think of some other connection between him and Miss Fernhill as the opportunity to interrupt. “Quite so, Miss Fairleigh.” Far more insightful than he suspected. Miss Fairleigh might not have a sparkling intellect, but she possessed a lot of common sense.
“There is someone for everyone,” Miss Fairleigh intoned. She frowned. “Except that Mr. Stone says marriage is not for everybody, and the two things cannot both be true, can they?”
Talking to Miss Fairleigh was somewhat like sinking into a deep feather pillow. The temptation to sleep was nearly irresistible. “Who is Mr. Stone, Miss Fairleigh?” Hythe asked, idly, more for something to say than out of interest.
Miss Fairleigh blushed. Hythe’s attention sharpened. “Mr. Gerard Stone. A neighbour of my family in Sussex,” she admitted. “May I tell you something in confidence, Lord Hythe?”
Hythe could not find the right words to persuade her to keep her secrets in time to stop her. “Gerard is my someone. Mama would like me to make a good match. She means someone with a title, but Gerard has land and comes from a good family. Papa said I must attend the parties Mama planned for me, and be pleasant to the gentlemen. He said if I did not find my affections engaged by someone else, I could go home for Christmas, and he would give his consent.”
She beamed, suddenly beautiful in her joy. “This is the last party, Lord Hythe, and no one is better than Gerard. Not for me.”
Hythe could help but smile back at her. She was a sweet young lady.
“Please do not smile at me like that, Lord Hythe,” she scolded him. “I do not want Mama thinking you might like me.”
Hythe told her the truth. “I do like you, Miss Fairleigh. I wish you and Mr. Stone every happiness.”
Hythe did not linger with the gentlemen over the port, but by the time he reached the drawing room, Miss Fernhill was nowhere to be seen. He asked Lady Osbourne, trying to sound casual.
